


Persephone

by Kaiiidth



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Autistic Spock (Star Trek), Jim is a Botanist, Language of Flowers, M/M, Marital Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-06 07:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21223067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiiidth/pseuds/Kaiiidth
Summary: During Spock's last semester at Starfleet Academy, he becomes preoccupied with botany.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first fan-fiction after a very long break! I apologize for not writing anything for a long period of time, I have been very preoccupied with school. Midterms are approaching, but I will do my best to update this story as often as possible. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> LLAP.

“Hurry along, Spock. It’s almost dark out, we wouldn’t want to worry your father.”

The sky was becoming a deep maroon. The temperature on Vulcan dropped drastically after sunset, and Amanda hadn’t brought outerwear with them on their short trek.

The botanist shop was on the edge of the city. Amanda liked to visit it, as she was keen to buying rare seeds for her home garden.

Amanda Grayson had an affinity for gardening. At first, she wasn’t very good at making things grow on Vulcan. All the fertile soil of her home planet was long gone, and almost no Terran plants were capable of flourishing on the red sands of Vulcan. She had tried everything, from tulips to cactus flowers. Much to her surprise, there was only one Earth species that held up against the domineering heat of her husband’s home planet. It was the _Baileya multiradiata_, also known as the desert marigold. On Earth, it was native to the southwestern United States as well as some regions in Central America. Now, Amanda hadn’t grown this flower back home- she was hardly a gardener back in her home state of New York. The desert marigold would’ve never thrived under those conditions. No, before she came to live on Vulcan, she tended to easier indoor plants… mostly ferns, succulents, and the occasional forgotten, unattended bouquet of roses her parents would purchase for one another on anniversaries, holidays, and the like.

Now, her green thumb was just another way she proved to be stubborn. Sarek had insisted that gardening would be an illogical pastime. _Leave this to the agricultural scientists, my wife._ _They are familiarized with the environment as well as the procedures in ways you are not._

It should be known Amanda Grayson never turns down a challenge. Nor does she give up on one. How else would she have married a man like Sarek?

Her son pulled on her evening robe as they exited the botanist’s shop together. Spock was a quiet child, he hardly spoke unless otherwise prompted. Nothing like Sybok or Michael, not in the slightest.

“Yes, Spock?” She looked towards him, meeting large brown eyes. A feeling of warmth filled her chest; she couldn’t help herself.

The young Vulcan reached up, making grabby hands at his mother. She sighed in delight, relishing in the rare occurrences in which Spock would allow her to hold him. He wasn’t particularly fond of physical contact, and Amanda respected her son’s wishes. She wasn’t sure, however, if this trait was the result of his heritage or not. Either way, she suspected he was cold. The sun was about to go down, and the air was degrees cooler than when they had first stepped out.

Amanda carried Spock all the way back to their assigned hovercar, arranged and paid for by her husband. It was nice of Sarek, she thought. Being married to an ambassador had its perks, but she always wondered what it would feel like to be able to do every day things without his authoritative protection. Just one day without dozens of eyes gazing at her, passing their silent judgement. _Look at the human woman and her hybrid son! Times are certainly changing. What a pity._

Upon her arrival to Vulcan, Amanda was dumbfounded. She had been planning the move for months, yet the concept of marrying a strange man and moving to a strange planet was intimidating. She knew she loved Sarek, but it never got any easier to think about until the day she stepped foot off their private shuttle. The first thing she noticed was the lack of trees. It unsettled her. The second thing she noticed was her husband’s behavior among his kin. He was sterner, less like the man she had worked so hard to get to know. At first, Amanda was afraid she was his Earth souvenir. This wasn’t the case, fortunately, but sometimes she wishes it were. Maybe souvenir wives got more help with the children.

Amanda tugged Spock closer to her body, feeling his arms wrap around her neck. He was tired, she had insisted they walk to the shop on the way there. His perfectly cut bangs were disheveled from the evening wind, so she fixed them while running her hand through his sleek hair. Normally, the boy would protest, but he was on the brink of falling asleep. His eyes were droopy, focused on the bag situated on his lap. Inside, there were marigold seeds.

“_Ko-mekh,”_ Spock mumbled, dropping an arm to inspect the contents of the bag. “What are these, again?”

“They’re flower seeds.”

“They do not look like flower seeds.”

“They’re not Vulcan flower seeds. They’re from Earth.”

“And you will grow them at home?”

“Yes, Spock.” Amanda said, her hand falling to her son’s back to support him as he slouched further against her body heat. “In the garden on the balcony.”

“You must hurry, then… hurry to grow and harvest them before Sybok lets I-Chaya loose in the house again.” Spock yawned, his head brushing against his mother’s shoulder. “I-Chaya enjoys eating flowers.”

She laughed quietly, not wanting to startle him out of his peaceful state. “Okay. Only if you promise to help me.”

“This sounds agreeable.”

Shortly after, Spock fell asleep. Amanda kissed the top of his head, grateful.

+++

Spock was now twenty years of age. It was his birthday- January 7th. His mother had sent him a holovid in the morning, wishing him a wonderful day. He had thanked her thoroughly, but her gifts did not end there. Amanda was not a good secret keeper, and admitted to having arranged a delivery that afternoon, for a bouquet of flowers to be delivered to his apartment. Spock recognized his mother’s fascination with them as nostalgic; plants reminded her of Spock’s youth spent in their garden. It almost made him smile, remembering the long afternoons under the Vulcan sun tending to various plants, both native and non-native to their red planet. However, he was no longer a child. There was no use in reminiscing what no longer was.

Spock had left for Earth approximately three years ago. He was freshly seventeen, packing his suitcase for the blue planet. He had disappointed his father for the final time; who knows how long it would be before he would see Sarek again. Spock hated to admit it, but he had hoped he would never have to face him again. His father’s approval was all he’d ever wanted, and once he’d gotten it (upon his acceptance to the Vulcan Science Academy), he found that he no longer wanted it. There was no use in reveling in what no longer was desired.

He managed to push all thoughts of his birthday, his family, and flowers aside. Instead, Spock focused his attention on his coursework. It was easy to him- to deny himself indulgences, especially emotional ones, when there was work to be done. Many accused him of living with a “stick up his ass,” but Spock assured everybody there was nothing of the sort in his body.

His doorbell rang- _what a horrendous noise_, Spock thought. There was no point in sitting around, though.

As he peered through his door’s peephole, he found he did not recognize the person on the other side. Upon further inspection, he discovered the blurry image of a stranger holding a woven basket containing bundles of yellow, rounded flowers.

“Is Sc… Shin… S… is Spock here?” The delivery man, Spock assumed, called through the barrier. Spock was never great with strangers, but there was nothing to be worried about, he assured himself. A delivery was to be a quick exchange. He would open the door, accept the basket, and the transaction would be complete. There were to be no formalities if Spock did not desire them, and he knew the stranger did not care enough about him to pass any judgement.

Spock entered his door code, gazing at the golden flowers blocking the stranger’s face as the automatic barrier slid open.

“Delivery for Mister Spock!” Said a cheery voice, thrusting the woven basket towards the Vulcan. Now that he had a better look at them, Spock recognized the type of flower his mother had sent out for him. They were desert marigolds, Amanda’s favorite.

Spock took the basket from the stranger, placing it indoors quickly. All he needed to do was sign whatever paperwork was necessary, and he would be on his own again. It would be easy.

Or so he thought. The only thing more golden than the bouquet was the man standing before him. The stranger’s name was etched upon his company sweatshirt- embroidered in red thread, cursive spelling out J-A-M-E-S. James. _What a lovely name_, he mused. James was ‘a sight for sore eyes,’ as his mother would say, golden skin and tawny hair standing out and radiating warmth against the drab, snow filled winter day. His hands extended a PADD, but Spock hadn’t noticed.

“Mister Spock? Can you sign this for me?”

His voice was smooth, clear enough to snap Spock out of his beauty-induced stupor. Spock took James’ PADD and pen, only hesitating to watch the other man’s hazel eyes crinkle as he smiled. His rosy cheeks were dimpled, Spock noted.

“It’s a good day for flowers, I think. Especially for sunny ones like these, don’t you think?”

Spock stared at him. He thought he was going to snap the pen in half.

James shrugged. “Maybe I’m just biased. Yellow is my favorite color, after all.”

Spock nodded, handing James his pen back. It was bent.

James took it but made no comment of its new shape. “Thank you! You enjoy those, alright? The lady who ordered them sounded very excited about them.”

And then it was over. James was gone, and the doors slid closed. Spock blinked, and turned to his new basket. A card was attached to it.

_Happy 20th birthday, Spock! My baby boy is finally an adult. I can hear your voice in my head already, telling me you’ve been an adult for three years, but I’ll let you lecture me later. I hope you enjoy these and think of me when you see them. I miss you very much. Study hard, but remember to relax, okay? I love you!_

_ -Mom_

Spock sighed. He turned the card over. It had a logo on it- _Kirk’s Botany_, written in the same cursive font of James’ sweatshirt.

The half-Vulcan could only feel what could be labelled as dread. As much as he tried to deny or suppress it, it often overpowered him to the point of great sadness. Spock put the card down and wrung his hands together, a stimulatory motion he practiced in times of distress.

His mother was thoughtful, but her acknowledgement of his age made Spock self-conscious. Was it laughable, to be twenty years of age without as many experiences as his peer group? Compared to humans, this was expected. Compared to Vulcans, however, Spock still felt he lacked finesse. Where his counterparts were elegant and graceful, he found himself gauche and ungainly. He wasn’t sure, however, if these traits were the result of his heritage or not.

And then there was the metaphorical elephant in the room- the room being Spock’s brain, of course. James was the most stunning man Spock had ever laid eyes upon. Such beauty only reminded him of his non-existent love life. It hadn’t interested him as a teenager, but that was quickly resolved upon discovering he didn’t want to be held by just anybody- he wanted to never and always be touched by another man. It wasn’t a very big deal, it shouldn’t be now, but it still felt moderately groundbreaking to Spock.

Would there be merit in seeking out James? He knew his place of work- would it be worth it to try to find him again? No, he quickly chastised himself. That would be inappropriate. He was not the kind of man to track another person down, especially not for such flippant purposes. No, that would be a very bad idea.

The least he could do is order another bouquet. If James were to show up at his doorstep again, he would ask him for contact information. Yes, that was a better idea. If James were to reject him, he would put an end to his ridiculousness immediately. He would lock his doors and never gaze upon another flower until he was all out of embarrassment.

Spock put his desert marigolds- every bundle- in vases around his apartment. He supposed they stood out nicely against whatever minimalist aesthetic the Vulcan had established. Maybe (just maybe) Spock needed a little more gold in his life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! I tried making this one longer. Enjoy.
> 
> LLAP.

The Vulcan sat at his computer for what felt like ages, scrolling through the wide variety of flowers available at Kirk’s Botany. It had been over two weeks since his birthday- it was now January 26th. Spock had spent a long time debating whether he should follow through with his previously established plan. Was it inappropriate? It wasn’t like he was actively trying to find James… if he showed up, then he showed up, right?

Spock wasn’t going out of his way to find him… but there was a feeling of discomfort looming over his shoulder. Was this weird? If James doesn’t deliver to him the next time, would it be odd to keep ordering until he finally did? Was James their only delivery man? According to the website, Kirk’s Botany was a small, family owned business based in Starfleet Academy’s campus town. It would be logical for James to be one of the only employees.

It took him another hour to confirm his purchase. Spock had placed an order for a dozen primroses, tied neatly in a bunch with a yellow ribbon. He decided not to include a card as these flowers were not a gift but served to symbolize Spock’s questionable choices.

The primroses were set to arrive in the early afternoon, sometime before lunch. Spock didn’t know if he’d be able to eat with how anxious he was feeling. He hid it well, though, powering through his assignments in a timely manner. If Spock had to name something good about himself, he would say that he’s highly efficient.

That efficiency was out the window when he saw the clock strike twelve in the afternoon. If his calculations were correct, the primroses would be on their way. The drive from Kirk’s Botany to Spock’s apartment was approximately fifteen minutes, given that he lived on the outskirts of campus town. Those fifteen minutes, give or take a few minutes with respects to traffic, James would be at his door in about twenty minutes. Maybe half an hour if snowfall was to interfere.

Within that half hour Spock had decided something: if James did not deliver the primroses, he would cease ordering flowers. It was one thing to make one singular attempt, and it was another to become obsessed. It wouldn’t be good for anybody if he grew attached to the man, especially since he hadn’t spoken an audible word to him.

The doorbell startled him yet again, sending his heart rate on a race. Spock stood clumsily, wringing his hands nervously as he approached the door. He restrained himself, not using the peephole to check who it was. The Vulcan fumbled with the door code momentarily, his hands shaking upon hearing someone beyond his door.

“Mister Spock! I’ve got your flowers!”

It was him. Spock pressed the last digit of his door code with anticipation.

James held onto the flowers with gloved hands, his grip firm but not enough to bend the green stems. Spock blinked at him, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt.

“Hi again,” James smiled. “How’re you doing?”

“Acceptable,” Spock said, avoiding James’ eyes.

Snowflakes fell upon James’ reddened nose. He displaced them off gently by shaking his head. “Primroses! I love these. I’m sure they’ll make a great gift for your special someone.”

Spock rose an eyebrow out of curiosity. “Excuse me?”

James cheeks suddenly matched the color of his nose. “Oh! Well, you know… the meaning of a bunch of primroses is eternal love. And with a handsome guy like you, I just thought…”

“You think I am handsome?” Spock asked in shock.

“Uh,” James laughed nervously, his blush expanding across the bridge of his nose. “I’m not blind, Mister Spock.”

Spock felt the tips of his ears go warm, which only meant that James could see his flush, too. “Thank you. You look sufficient as well.”

This made James laugh, hearty and genuine. “You’re a sweet-talker, huh?”

Spock began taking the bouquet from James’ hands, this time looking at him in the process. Without another word, Spock signed James’ PADD, using the same pen he’d bent the last time they saw one another.

_ Do it_, he prompted himself. _Do it! Ask him for his contact information. He believes you are handsome._

But, he didn’t. He was at a loss for words, overstimulated and overwhelmed by the interactions with the gorgeous man before him. Before he knew it, Kirk was waving to him from his company hovercar.

“Take care!” He yelled from the window. Spock watched him drive into the distance, until he disappeared among the snow.

+++

Another two weeks had passed since Spock’s last encounter with James. It was now February 7th.

Spock had, for the most part, pushed whatever happened between them towards the back of his mind. In the meantime, Spock was the best student in his class. It was his last semester at Starfleet Academy as a student; he would be graduating that spring. He worked around the clock, drinking excess amounts of spiced tea to keep him awake as he studied for his midterms. Only before bed would he allow himself to think of James, what he should have done, but it was fruitless. There was no use yearning for what could not be.

His apartment no longer reflected the compassion of his mother (the desert marigolds) or his impulsivity (the primroses). Those flowers had died some time ago as Spock did not know how to maintain them without his mother’s aid. It had been saddening to toss them, but there was little he could do. They were wilting and the petals fell off day by day. Such imagery unsettled him, so he did what was logical and threw them out before they could start to smell pungent. The Vulcan had gotten used to having flowers, though. A part of him missed them, and he considered buying more. Not from Kirk’s Botany, of course. He had his chance and he’d blown it. No, instead he would stop by a supermarket and pick up some tulips.

On the evening of February 7th, Spock lay on his couch. The furniture in his apartment was all second hand, given to him by his recruiter and admiral, Christopher Pike. Pike heard of Spock’s quick move to San Francisco and coughed up his old couch, coffee table, and two or three plush throw blankets. Eventually, with money from his work study, Spock got a mattress. There was not enough for a headboard, however. At least not right away.

He was reading a novel- if you asked him, Spock would not be able to recall its title, as his mind was elsewhere. Suddenly, there was a knock at Spock’s door. It sounded frantic, like it was an emergency. Spock got to his feet and sped to the door, pressing the code in as quickly as he could.

Behind the doors were two things Spock did not expect to see. He found James carrying a bouquet of fresh orchids.

“Mister Spock,” he sounded out of breath.

“James?” He asked, staring at the other man with quiet wonder. “I did not order flowers…”

James looked bashful, holding the flowers out towards the Vulcan.

“I know. I know you didn’t, and I never do this, I swear to god, I know this is probably really crazy,” he paused, “butIcan’tstopthinkingaboutyou.”

Spock blinked. What was going on?

“Just hear me out, okay?”

“Okay,” Spock agreed.

“The last time I saw you I thought you were flirting with me, and so I flirted back, and I was hoping you’d ask me for my number or something… but you didn’t, and I didn’t want to seem eager or pushy by giving you mine, and I only now realize that I seem super invasive and annoying and probably weird as all hell showing up here uninvited, but-“

“James!”

“What!”

“You are speaking too quickly. Would you like to come inside?”

“Yes,” he squeaked. “It’s cold out here.”

With that, Spock stepped aside. James was in his apartment. It felt surreal.

“Sit, please. Would you like tea?”

“Yes, please.”

Spock fixed him a cup, bringing it out steaming. He handed it to the other man, who looked antsy.

“As I was saying,” James said, stopping to take a sip of his cup. He burnt his tongue, wrinkling his nose at the sensation. It should not have been as endearing as it was. “I felt stupid for not saying anything. Or getting your number. I hope you don’t think I’m crazy, I don’t go to every customer’s house and ask for their numbers, I swear.”

“Why me?” Spock asked, tilting his head. “I am flattered, and I must admit I shared the same regret upon your departure… but, why do this now?”

James huffed. “You’re going to laugh at me, Mister Spock.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“Well… My horoscope said I should seek out the one that got away, so… here I am.”

This answer amused Spock enough to tug the corner of his mouth into a slight smile.

James covered his face. “See! You’re Vulcan-laughing at me!”

“James,” Spock almost chuckled. “I am not laughing at you.”

“You so are,” he grinned. “You can call me Jim, by the way.”

“Jim.” Spock liked the way it felt on his lips.

Jim picked the orchids on the table back up, thrusting them towards Spock once again. “So… can I have your number?”

**+++**

It was the dry season on the planet Vulcan. Amanda was restless, trying to find something- anything- to do. She never believed in empty nest syndrome until she experienced it, and not even I-Chaya was around to keep her busy these days. No, these days she twiddled her thumbs and fiddled with her universal translator. Sure, she’d already made tremendous improvements upon it before, improving life for billions, but she got restless. Amanda was never the kind of woman to sit around and do nothing. It reminded her too much of her old life on Earth.

Her departure to Vulcan had not been well received by her family. It had occurred almost twenty-one years ago, and she could still not shake the feeling she made an error along the way. She had a beautiful family and she would never regret raising her children. But, ever since Spock’s teenage years, her marriage experienced strain. She had recognized that she would not always see eye to eye with Sarek, but she never expected it to get as difficult as it did.

They wanted two very distinct things for Spock.

Amanda only wanted Spock to be happy. She wanted him to do anything that made him happy. She knew he could feel happy, she’d seen it on his face before he outgrew his smile. Amanda only wanted to support him and anything that helped him ease into adult life; it would never be easy for a boy like Spock. She wanted him to love every part of himself that made him so special.

Sarek, on the other hand, had planned everything out for Spock before he was even born. He agreed to have a child with the human woman only if he could raise him on Vulcan. At the time, Amanda agreed to the proposition. It would be healthy for their child to embrace his culture, after all, and live alongside his father and older brother Sybok. However, she had not foreseen the kind of father her husband would become: strict, intimidating, and ashamed of the son he’d agreed to having.

Spock excelled lightyears beyond his peers, all with Sarek breathing down his neck. It was Sarek who pushed him to apply to the Vulcan Science Academy. It was Sarek who insisted getting him bonded to T’Pring, even going as far as giving her family a large sum of money for the arrangement_. It was logical_, said Sarek. _No Vulcan woman would willingly have Spock, not with his inclination for emotional outbursts._ Of course.

It had persisted until Spock’s seventeenth birthday. The day Spock made his own decision. Amanda understood her son’s logic, she recognized it being as flawless as always. She understood Spock’s desire to flee. She sometimes felt it herself.

But that was in the past.

Every day, Amanda woke up and didn’t move. There was no use in reaching for Sarek anymore, as the two never woke up together. Her husband was an early riser. At the very beginning, she would trace shapes onto the surface of his pillow with her finger, feeling forlorn. That didn’t last very long.

These days, Amanda found her husband meditating in his study when she finally got out of bed. It was harder now, as she had nobody to tend to but herself. She waits for him in the living area, staring at her PADD in search for a message or holovid from Spock. Maybe even from Michael.

Spock’s contact name emerged on her device, and she selected it faster than she would like to admit. Amanda missed him dearly. It was nice to speak to someone who didn’t consider her another strange object in Sarek’s ostentatious house.

_ Mother,_

_ I am aware of your busy schedule, _

Amanda chuckled dryly.

_ but I was wondering if you could answer a few questions regarding Earth flora. The topic is of utmost importance, as I have met a Terran man who is fascinated by the subject. I would like to, as you say, “woo” him. Your assistance is greatly needed._

_ Please respond soon._

_ Your son,_

_ Spock. _

Amanda felt herself smile from ear to ear, cheeks flushing with emotion. Spock was always so direct, and it was at times like these where she appreciated it more than ever.

She’d hoped one day Spock would find love, but she never expected him to come to her for help. Michael often did, she’d shoot Amanda the occasional text asking what a girl means when she says she wants to “get coffee.” Spock, however, tends to hide his personal life. Amanda tends to find out things about Spock through a crucial third party (that third party being his siblings).

Amanda forgot where she was, smiling so hard at her PADD. Sarek’s entrance startled her, making her face fall almost immediately.

“I didn’t see you there,” she said.

“What held your attention?” Sarek asked, walking over to the kitchen counter to grab their tea kettle. Amanda watched as he filled it with water, placing it atop the stovetop to boil.

She shrugged. “Just a message from Spock.”

The tea kettle sat silently for a moment as Sarek selected his choice of tea leaves. Amanda pressed her PADD against her chest.

Nothing was said for a moment.

“Spock is too dependent on you,” Sarek mentioned, his tone unreadable.

Amanda stared at him as the tea kettle began to whistle.

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware it does not snow in San Francisco. However, this is the future... and it is fiction! Enjoy.


End file.
